


Several Hundred Flowers Later

by supersalad



Category: The Muppets (TV 2015)
Genre: Dubious Science, Fluff and Humor, For Science!, M/M, Secret Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 15:26:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20293714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supersalad/pseuds/supersalad
Summary: The day after "Flowers on the Wall," Beaker still needs a cure for his insomnia. Bunsen is working on a solution, but given how Beaker was up all night obsessing over him, he's also the problem.





	Several Hundred Flowers Later

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the [Flowers on the Wall](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8uIlNtonvr8) video.

Beaker knew exactly who could understand him when he spoke, and who he could say anything to without them knowing the difference. Even on his elevator ride up to the labs in the morning.

"Hey Beaker, how's it going?"

"I blew up my apartment and I'm in unrequited love. My life is in shambles."

"Great! Keep up the good work!"

* * *

Beaker didn't even get a chance to take off his coat; as soon as he walked through the door, Bunsen was taking it off for him and eagerly replacing it with his lab coat. "Beakie, dear! Tell me, how did the Anti-Insomnia Sleep Machine work last night?"

"It… didn't," he sighed. Hating to disappoint Bunsen, he hurried to add, "but the good news is, it gave me lots of time to work on some alternatives." He opened up his notebook and handed it to Bunsen. "I went with something consumable instead of using electrodes. Since I think I might be desensitized from all the times you've used me as a generator."

"And this worked?" Bunsen adjusted his glasses to peer at Beaker's scribbled calculations.

"Well, it sort of worked. I did fall asleep. But it also blew a hole through my wall, so there's that to consider." He honestly couldn't say which had finally put him to sleep, the concoction itself or the soothing familiarity of the accompanying explosion. "Anyway, I just used what I had at home, which wasn't much."

"Ah, I see. We could certainly make it stronger." And with that, Bunsen was at the whiteboard, already churning out different ways to tweak Beaker's formula. He flipped through the pages of the notebook. "Good to see so many doodles in your notes, Beaker. That stimulates the brain, you know. Helps unlock creativity."

Then Beaker remembered - in his sleep-deprived state last night, a few of his drawings had ended up being of Bunsen's face. Beaker's heart jumped into his throat, and he quickly swallowed it back down. (No, really - that had been a side effect of a bad batch of Bunsonium years ago, and he hadn't been the same since.)

It was too late to make any attempt at getting his notebook back. Maybe Bunsen wouldn't notice. Maybe he'd ignore it. Maybe he'd find it cute, the way he always did with the things Beaker found most embarrassing about himself.

Bunsen turned to him with a puzzled expression, and Beaker tried to look busy examining the contents of some test tubes. "Beakie, I'm afraid I'm not following this calculation. It appears you have the infinity sign inside a big circle, what were you trying to figure out here?"

Beaker had to keep himself from facepalming. At least Bunsen's obliviousness could be a blessing for once, instead of the curse it usually was. So he answered truthfully with, "The reason I couldn't sleep."

Because it wasn't just the caffeine. There was a deeper restlessness within him, the kind that made him crave adventures and road trips and big musical numbers. Sleep was never an issue then. He'd be out like a light curled up next to Bunsen on the Electric Mayhem bus, or on a train across Europe, or sharing a bed in some sketchy motel somewhere. Maybe that was all he needed.

* * *

All morning, Bunsen's hand was flying across the whiteboard, still not fast enough to keep up with his brain. Beaker couldn't help but watch in awe.

As he went about his more mundane tasks in the lab, he listened for the absentminded murmuring coming from Bunsen. When he heard, "Oh, where did I put my..." Beaker was ready with the calculator before Bunsen had even asked for it. As well as a new marker, since he noticed the one on the whiteboard was drying out.

"Beakie, could you hand me a new- oh, you already did, thank you, love. And we'll need..." This time, Beaker was ready with the heavy-duty battery clamps. 

By now, Beaker was used to Bunsen when he was in his element like this, trailing off in half-finished sentences and leaving Beaker to extrapolate wherever his mind was headed to next. Everyone thought that Bunsen was the one who'd had to learn to understand Beaker, but Beaker had put just as much work into understanding Bunsen.

But in getting carried away by these Honeydewian flashes of brilliance, Bunsen would inevitably forget something crucial, something he'd overlooked in jumping from point A to Z. Part of Beaker's job was figuring out what that missing piece was, usually through painful trial and error. And today, with two out of the two scientists in the room distracted, there was no hope of figuring it out ahead of time.

Despite his lack of sleep, Beaker's insides were a ball of anxious energy that buzzed and hummed every time their gazes met or their hands touched. If he was hooked up to an electrical grid right about now, he was sure he could singlehandedly power the entire city. He glanced at the battery clamps out of the corner of his eye, hoping he wasn't going to find out anytime soon.

Before long, Beaker was adding in the last of their solvents and making one more adjustment to the temperature of the burner. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that they'd missed something.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and Bunsen sighed with satisfaction next to him. "Isn't it music to your ears, Beaker? The sound of a solution gently bubbling to perfection, taking us one teensy step further in our pursuit of knowledge."

But Beaker suddenly shook his head. If he'd learned anything from last night, that sound was a bad sign, and with the way Bunsen had pumped up the potency, this thing was going to blow the roof off-

He tackled Bunsen to the ground half a second before a fiery _BWOOOOMF_ rang through the air. He felt heat on the back of his neck, enough to singe some hair off, but he'd had enough experience with fire to know that he was essentially okay - and so was Bunsen beneath him.

As the sound of shattering glass subsided, Beaker became mortifyingly aware of the position he was in. They were pressed together from head to toe, both catching their breath, their mouths inches apart. And he was still holding onto Bunsen, even now after all the smoke had cleared.

Bunsen broke the silence. "Why, Beaker, I don't think we've been this close since that time our Self-Wrapping Cords got out of control."

Beaker cleared his throat and carefully untangled himself from Bunsen. "Yeah, that was an interesting week."

"I couldn't help but notice," Bunsen began, straightening his tie. Beaker started shrinking into his collar at the thought of what it could be; everything he did felt like a dead giveaway of how he'd grown to feel about Bunsen. But Bunsen went on, "Your first instinct was to save me instead of yourself."

Beaker shrugged and tried to laugh. "What are lab assistants for?"

Bunsen finished straightening his own tie and leaned in to take care of Beaker's, studying him in a way that made Beaker's whole body heat up faster than their solution just had. "Oh, where did I ever find you? How did I get so lucky?"

He kissed Beaker on the cheek - just before it completely disappeared under his collar - and then stood back up. "Come on now, quit lollygagging around on the floor. I can hear lunch calling our names." (It was remarkable, really, the abilities their Sentient Cheese had developed.)

Last night, it had been so easy for Beaker to confess everything to his sad, makeshift coat-hanger-and-balloon Bunsen. Now, none of the words from his candlelit toast seemed feasible to say in the light of day. All he could do was pick himself up, follow Bunsen out of the lab for lunch, and try to pass off his dazed expression as his usual resting anxiety face.

He couldn't tell if he was so in love it hurt, or if it was just the shards of glass all over him.

* * *

Their coffee maker had evolved into something with so many buttons and levers, Beaker couldn't remember which was which for the life of him (potentially literally). Bunsen's hypothesis was that sometimes people needed something stronger than coffee to wake them up, but Beaker was finding some serious flaws in it. Today alone, he'd set off fireworks once, been slapped in the face twice, and fought off the angry raccoon that had been digging through the coffee maker's automatic composter.

Besides, he didn't need a coffee maker to beat him up when he was doing it well enough on his own. All he could feel was Bunsen's kiss on his cheek, and all he could think about was calculating how many degrees he would've had to turn his head at that moment to kiss Bunsen for real, the way he wanted to. 

He was about to tempt fate with the third button from the left when he heard Bunsen calling him from across the lab. "Beakiepoo! Where is that lovely assistant of mine?"

Beaker had fleeting thoughts of jumping out the window. The sweeter the pet names, the worse his fate. But they worked on him every time. He set down his empty coffee cup and went over to where Bunsen was holding up a graduated cylinder.

"Beakie, I was going about it all wrong. This formula calls for a slow burn. No, no, not literally burning-" he pulled Beaker's head out from under his collar- "I mean, you'll take several smaller doses over the course of the evening. If you start now, you should be able to fall asleep at a reasonable hour tonight."

Beaker relaxed. That didn't sound too bad.

"Of course, you'll need someone to monitor you."

"_Monitor?_"

"Yes, we'll have to keep track of how it's affecting you as you take it." Bunsen thought for a moment, then gasped, "We can make a night of it! Chef was telling me about this new restaurant in town. Now, it's a little fancy, so we might want to dress up for the occasion. Don't worry, it'll be on me. And you mentioned you had a slight mishap in your apartment last night? In that case, you can't stay there, can you? I've got plenty of space."

"More than slight, but I- you- wait, what?" Beaker's head was spinning, and he hadn't even taken a dose yet.

"Yes, so bring some jammies. For fun, I can show you all my published articles from back in my Berkeley days."

"I've read all your papers already. And all the ethics inquiries into them."

"Ah yes, that pesky institutional review board. Well, I'm sure we'll find something else to do."

Beaker knew, he _knew_, that this would add an altogether different variable to the experiment. A dangerous one, one that would likely be more explosive than anything that had happened in the lab that day.

"What do you say?" Bunsen held his arm out for Beaker to take.

And Beaker took it, his heart swelling in his chest (and it wasn't the Bunsonium this time). "Sounds perfect to me."

He tried to imagine the inside of Bunsen's apartment - he didn't think there would be any flowers on the wall to count, but he didn't think he would need them tonight.


End file.
